


i got some beer and the highway's free

by pants2match



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21818089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pants2match/pseuds/pants2match
Summary: Which leads him to here, just over a year later, looking at a half-naked Juliet on their bed, in their little yellow house, being asked—no, told—to suck his girlfriend's cock.unfinished strap-on fun // ft. bi!sawyer, bullshit will not be put up with!
Relationships: Juliet Burke/James "Sawyer" Ford
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	i got some beer and the highway's free

James has never been in this particular situation before. In his previous vocation he'd been required to engage in a variety of sexual exploits, to varying degrees of, shall we say, severity; from the mild missionary and cuddling, long, lazy sessions, gentle and sweet; to equal opportunity fuzzy handcuffs, lace and leather and bare asses sporting stinging red handprints; but there is a stark difference between the sex one has for the job, even when he had felt _something_ there was a detachment, a kill switch and a timeline and a gratifying end on his part; this, this relationship, this sex, has no end date, there’s no puppet string tugging him back when he gets too close and no pot of gold waiting for him. She’s quicksand, abyssal and infinite and he’s happy to keep falling through her endlessly.

About a month into their stay with the Dharma Initiative, Juliet had broached a subject he hadn’t expected. They’re nowhere near fucking, nowhere near any kind of intimate relationship apart from the what comes with being one of a few people to share a reality. They're still in the transitional housing, with their cots and shared single bathroom. Since Daniel’s departure it had been worked out that two of “LaFleur’s Crew” would always be off at the same time, just until they can settle into their permanent housing. This leaves James and Juliet home alone on a Thursday night, drinking Dharma Beer and tackling a two-thousand piece jigsaw puzzle. The Canals of Venice.

“Our files, The Others’, they were... thorough,” this isn't exactly out of nowhere, he later realises, he'd told her about Clementine, being a father, the other day when Jin had been especially blue during their shift; he hadn’t been able to turn it on, fake understanding for his friend’s sake. Perhaps he was disconnected from the concept of fatherhood, “I already knew about Clementine when you told me,”

She's not offering an apology, exactly, more of an olive branch, that maybe it's not such a bad thing. He's more curious than anything, exactly what they had dug up on him (what she could use: not against him, not anymore). He quizzes her on his life as they put the last of the border pieces in place. Some answers she knows, others she doesn’t, or can’t remember. The questions grow increasingly specific, things she couldn’t possibly know, and she stops him.

“James,” she goes to speak but stops, an uncharacteristic falter and he wonders if he should worry, “I am by no means professionally qualified to talk to you about… anything, really, but if you wanted to, about—well, as my mother once said to my sister: I know about your _proclivities_,” she stifles a small laugh at the formality of the euphemism, she doesn’t want to seem disingenuous, and she wants him to know that she’s better versed in the topic than he might have thought, “I know you're bisexual, or I have some strong evidence to suggest so,”

This was not at all what he was expecting, something about his parents, about Cassidy and Clementine, another kid? But no, what she’s giving him is a relief he didn’t know he needed. Keeping secrets had always been second nature, but now their—the four, five of them—survival is depending on it and—

“It's all raw data, really, but if you know what you're looking at…” no one apart from his male partners and clinic staff knew for sure, he doesn’t think he’s ever told anyone else, “my sister, she was fifteen when she came out to me, and she’d already been carrying it around for a few years, she said it was like taking off a backpack full of bricks, then she was twenty-five when she told our mom and it turned out she knew the whole time… It’s just one less thing for you to be carrying around,”

He gets the metaphor, but for him she’s just told him he can breathe after a lifetime a holding his breath.

(Later he meets her at the door of their shared room, stops her before she crosses the threshold and pulls her in, holds tight and after a moment she reciprocates, arms around his shoulders and face in the crook of his neck. “I got your back,” she whispers, “remember?”

“Yeah,” he let’s out a breath, release, loosens his grip on her and moves from her ribs to her waist, “’n I got yours,”)

—

Which leads him to here, just over a year later, looking at a half-naked Juliet on their bed, in their little yellow house, being asked—no, told—to suck his girlfriend's cock.

(He's hazy on the specifics of how exactly she procured the strap-on, and honestly he couldn't give two shits because he just about passed out when she'd come into the bedroom with it on. The thick straps are impossibly dark against her skin, yet the cock somehow a near perfect match. It's like nothing he's ever seen, the flush in her cheeks betrays her as she stares right through him, all the while teasing her new addition.

She powers through whatever trepidation she's feeling, blows through it like a freight train.)

He moves to kiss her, slip his hand up under the tank top and coax it off of her. It’s a magnetic pull, every time. Her skin is smooth, feminine, usually smelling of the jasmine lotion Amelia makes.

But he can't, he's stopped short with a hand on his chest, pushing up until it snakes around to tangle in his hair:

“You heard me,”

She says it the same way she tells him to stop being a jackass, _James_, staring him down. So he kneels down in front of her, trails his finger tips up her legs. Stubbly, a couple of days at least, maybe more with the way their schedules have been. No matter, not with the way her breath hitches once he’s half-way up her thighs. She loses herself a moment, close to giving up the game.

But she doesn’t, she pushes his hair back from his face and looks him straight in the eye. He’s never been big on eye contact while doing this, giving or receiving, but he can't help but hold her gaze.

He starts as far down as he can, making a well-educated guess at where her clit might be, testing the give of the leather. Juliet stifles a moan and grabs at his hair, “_hey_,” he takes the warning and moves to the base of the—her cock, trailing his tongue up the underside; again, firmer. She hums an approval, low, and pushes herself into his tongue.

_Like riding a bicycle_. He refocuses, licking around the tip, teasing the sculpted ridges.

She watches, rapt, as he takes the tip, more. His jaw moves and his tongue, she can’t feel it but she knows what he can do with it, can only imagine how the suction feels. The warmth, the wetness. “_Fuck_”. She can see him smile around her, but he doubles down, places his hand between her legs, fondles at the phantom balls as he slides further down her cock.

There’s friction as she thrusts, slow and controlled, until it’s not. She’s straining against herself. Danger. If she’s not careful she’ll fall apart and he’ll take over, and for a moment her mind wanders. Him loosening the straps around her waist and pulling it down, stripping her of it and filling the space with his mouth, his tongue—She pulls at his hair, guiding him, fucking him. Faking the build up to a counterfeit orgasm, putting on the moans and trying not to get dragged along along with it.

When he comes up for air he’s red-faced, panting a moment. He wipes away a stray trail of spit and she realises this is all too familiar and feels a rush of warmth shoot through her, a tension the can’t be relieved just yet.

That’s when he figures it out. She’s squirming when lays his hands on her thighs. This isn’t her kink (though, it might be now), this is her setting a scene, playing a part because she knows him, knows his patterns, knows they’ve long passed his record for longest relationship with a woman, with anyone.

He uses her for support when he rises, knees creaking, but overall happy.

“Don’t move,” he settles in at the top of the bed, “I’ll be right back,”

He looks at the nondescript bottle on her night table. He’d figured it was some new lotion or cream or whatever else she she uses to feel so damn good. _Fuck_. It’s all falling into place. This isn’t some practical therapy to work through her past, her present of working day in day out with men who talk openly about their own exploits now she’s one of the guys. This is for him.

The refrigerator door squeaks and he wonders, palming himself lightly through his sweats, if the curtains were pulled, when she came home and rushed off into the shower, with a package tucked under her arm. He wonders what would happen if someone walked past, if someone saw her walking around with her cock out. Would she be mortified? Would she get off on it? Who the hell cares if they know he’ll take it up the ass, because they would too.

Shit, they need to talk. About this, about her willingness to—not even indulge him. He has a hazy memory of a few months in, drunk and just fooling around for the hell of it.

(_Would you… could… do you miss it? …dick?_

_I like dick… I like pussy… Meal’s a meal._

_’M not talking about a meal._

_Y-_(a chuckle)_-you wanna know if you can stick a finger up my ass?_

_Mmhm. I wanna know… if I can stick a finger up your ass._)

Nothing had come of it, he hadn’t even recognised it as reality up until just now. _She’s got my back, alright_.

“Shit!” She stops dead in the threshhold, beer sloshing over theedge of the can. Her cock jiggles but he doesn’t get to enjoy the visual for long—

“What?” She tries to collect herself like she hadn’t just slipped up, he notes her bearing revert back. Strong, cool, “the game’s up, Blondie,”

“I,” _what game?_ sits on the tip of her tongue but but she gives, takes a sip of her beer. Her hips sway naturally as she comes towards him proffering his beer, “I was going to wear pants,” nodding towards his now unattended erection.

“‘D Just get in the way,”

“Maybe,” a small shrug, still standing, cock twitching with the slightest movement, “I wanted to see what you’d do,” she sits on the bed now, leaning towards him, “if you’d just rip them off and get down to business,” he shifts back on the headboard and she slaps at his calves to make room, “or if you’d draw it out, play a little. I haven’t always been the biggest fan of blow jobs,”

He hums. She makes her way up his legs, fiddling with the cloth as she goes, “but the anticipation’s always fun, building it up,”

“Can I kiss you now?”

She chuckles, “not yet,” he overplays a groan and smiles at her. The nerve.

“I’m lovin’ this, and,” he nods towards what he’s realised is lubricant, “I’m assuming there’s more to come, and the surprise, _hooo_,” he takes a breath, “I don’t need it, I told ya that,” her hand has made it up to his chest, drawing nonsense with her fingertip, “but fuck if you don’t make me want it.”

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this months ago and can just. not seem to finish it. if anyone wants to take this story off my hands!!!!!!! that would b great!!!!!!


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